Aubrey Jane Ryan

Flood Season

We swore to go vegan & childless. A small planet needs
                          no more mouths, no more

heels in the dance. My brain, a fat searchlight, sees: the atom
                          split, the creeks dried down

to cracked beds, & babies with their bellies like dusty balloons.
                          Even so, my body is a shock

of blush and flood: my hips a venus flytrap, my skin neon
                           & flashing. We move

back to the place we were born, where every year the Mississippi
                          tests her banks & some years sinks

the streets neck deep. Baby, your father asks why we build & rebuild
                          so near a mighty thing:

this river pulled back to floodplain and farmland: this feeder
                          of soil: this eater of April rain.